The Devil's Playground
by Heeley
Summary: AU. Look upon the Cursed and count your blessings. Let our Horror-filled lives amuse you. But when you're tucked up safe and sound in bed, ask yourself this: Would you dare enter our Playground? Tomoine.
1. Chapter 1

**This Chapter was edited by the lovely, Catherine Morgenstern** **, who corrected my mistakes, altered some sentences, cut out some words and replaced them with others. Thanks. She's also translating the story into German, you can find the info on that in my profile page.**

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 **"Welcome to the Devil's Playground"**

Hermione had never been so terrified in her entire life. Standing in front of the twisted wrought-iron gates of The Devil's Playground, she knew what true fear was. It was the crippling kind that seemed to wrap around your insides and squeeze so tightly that you couldn't breathe properly. Stealing your life away one precious second at a time. Her skin prickled as her wide eyes took in the sweeping lawn and distorted trees. At the end of the curving driveway, she could see the slate-grey facade of the mansion that housed the Playground and its collections of antiquities, artefacts, and cursed inhabitants. Soon she would be joining them. Hidden from the world and unable to ever leave its premises again, she would be made to live out her life in the shadows until death finally claimed her.

The dark-haired man beside her reached across to pull on the chain of a rusted bell. It rang out with a dull clang that quickly faded in the oppressive air and left silence behind. Hermione shuffled nervously, eyes darting to the man next to her. He'd picked her up from her house four hours ago, roughly introduced himself as Severus Snape and then proceeded to ignore her for the long journey up to the Playground. She'd been bursting with questions, but was too petrified of the answers he might give should she ask. So she'd kept quiet, watching the countryside fly by in a blur through the train's window. Two strangers forced together into a cramped space and unwilling to talk to one another.

Several times she'd found herself close to tears. The fear of what would happen to her overwhelmed her fraught nerves. Like everyone else, she'd heard of The Devil's Playground. She'd speculated and gossiped about what happened there. But never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined that she'd become one of the Cursed. Doomed to join Tom Marvolo Riddle's collection, or succumb to an agonising death and pass the curse on to another innocent soul, just as the death of another had passed it onto her.

Heart pounding painfully, Hermione peered through the gate's thick bars searching for whoever was coming to open it. She wondered if it would be Tom Riddle himself, but quickly cast that thought aside. There were whispers that he was unable to leave the Playground, just as cursed as those he watched over. Hermione didn't know what to believe. She almost wished that someone would ask her the question, so she would be forced to answer.

That was her curse: to know everything. Whatever question was asked of her, she instinctively knew the answer. It bubbled up inside her with the certainty of the encroaching tide. Yet, she was only ever able to respond with yes or no. She cast her gaze to the side, taking in the stoic man beside her. _Ask me if I'm right to be afraid. Ask me if the rumours are true,_ Hermione silently begged inside her head, the words spiralling around her mind as quickly as a Merry-Go-Round. The man, Snape, remained stubbornly silent, holding himself perfectly straight, seemingly unconcerned that her world was about to end.

More unnaturally long minutes crept by. The worry was spreading over her so thickly that she felt confined, squeezed tight and unable to breathe.

"Perhaps they didn't hear," she murmured into the still air.

Snape responded wordlessly with a sneer.

Sucking in a tired breath, she glanced down at her fingers. Her nails were bitten to the quick, her skin pale and fragile. The long months of illness had taken its toll on her body. She knew if she were to look in a mirror, her reflection would show dull eyes with bruised-looking circles under them, limp hair, and a too-thin face. She'd ignored the emerging curse for as long as possible. Dismissing the growing sickness and the new-found ability to know the answers to whatever questions were asked of her. Denial became her closest companion, whispering false reassurances into her ears. Only when her friends started to notice and pull away, watching her with wide eyes, did she know she couldn't put off making a decision any longer.

Live at the Playground or die.

She'd chosen to live because she wasn't ready to die. She'd be damned if she let the curse pull her into death. But feeling the sinister aura of the Playground pressing in on her, she wasn't sure she'd made the right choice.

A face appeared in front of her. Startled, she took a step back as she took in the heavily scarred face and bright-red hair of the man behind the gate's rusted steel bars. His deep blues eyes were filled with pity, assessing her silently as he lifted a bruised hand to swing open the gate. Hermione had expected it to creak dramatically but the heavy iron moved with relative ease, welcoming her into her new life with ominous silence. She hesitated and glanced at Snape, but the sour-faced man simply turned and began to walk away. The urge to reach out and grasp the sleeve of his black coat was so strong that her hand actually lifted, fingers splayed wide. He was the only familiar thing here. Even if she'd only known him for a few short hours.

"Won't you come in?" the red-haired man said.

Hermione flinched, her gaze darting back to him. "I...yes, of course," she murmured, stepping through the gate and trying not to stare at the scars that stretched across his face.

As soon as her feet touched the velvety grass, she felt the air shift. It grew wispy, like she was inhaling mist, although there was none to be seen. And it smelt different too, more intense, mineral-like, and it seemed to press against her in an unwanted caress, creeping under her clothes and hovering over her skin.

The sudden sound of the gate closing drew her attention. Her eyes took in the sealed iron, regret heavily weighing down her shoulders.

"I'm to take you up to the Playground," he said.

Hermione slowly shifted her gaze, arms lifting to hug her waist in self-comfort. "I don't even know your name."

He held his hand out. "Charlie Weasley."

"Hermione Granger," she said, reaching forward to take his bruised and battered hand in a careful grip.

"Come on then, it's best not to keep him waiting." He began to walk towards the Playground, giving her no choice but to follow.

"What is it that you do here?" she asked, struggling to keep up with his ground-eating gait, wondering if he, too, was cursed.

Charlie glanced at her, amusement showing fleetingly on his face. "I run the menagerie."

Hermione gasped in disbelief. She'd heard rumours of a menagerie hidden on the grounds where impossible creatures were chained and caged, the wildness tamed out of them. But that had been one of the rumours that she hadn't thought to be true. It had just seemed too fantastical to be real. But it would certainly explain the scars and bruises that decorated Charlie's body.

Her eyes searched the landscape, looking for the mythical beasts she now knew were hidden from sight. Her eager gaze passed over twisted trees and shadowed shrubbery, hoping to spot a winged beast or a fiery phoenix.

"It's out back," Charlie said, noticing the way her eyes darted about.

"Can I see it?" she asked, taking in the deep scars that bisected his cheek, running from the outer corner of his left eye to the side of his lip.

Perhaps the creatures weren't as tame as she were lead to believe.

Charlie grimaced. "Another time maybe."

Frowning, she swallowed her words of protest and continued to walk towards the Playground. It was closer now, filling the sky and hovering over her menacingly. The blank windows seemed to be watching her. And the closer she got the more the feeling intensified. The building was Victorian in design, although the Playground itself was much older than that. Over the centuries devastating fires had befallen the place and necessitated the rebuilding of the museum several times. And after so many years of existing in the same place its very presence had tainted the air and stained the earth. She could almost taste it on the back of her tongue as she inhaled.

Hermione felt the fear she was trying so hard to contain slip free and creep up her spine. It was an effort to keep her legs moving. Her feet didn't want to take another step. Inside her boots, her toes curled in protest. But turning back wasn't an option if she wanted to live. And she did, desperately. They finally made it to the door, a large intricately carved, wooden monstrosity that looked capable of withstanding a battering ram. She bit her lip when Charlie reached forward, placed his hand against the waxy wood and pushed.

A large circular entrance hall met her gaze, through a domed glass ceiling watery grey light filtered in. Opposite her, a wide staircase curved upwards and was lost in shadows. The walls were painted a matte green which complimented the dark woodwork, and the floor was black marble, threaded through with red and gold veins. She sucked in a breath of dusty air and looked at Charlie.

"His office is that way." He pointed a scratched finger towards a door hidden beneath the staircase. "Follow the hall to the end, it's the only door there."

Hermione's head whipped around to face him. "You're not coming with me?"

"I don't enter the Playground," he said in a flat voice, turning away and leaving her on the threshold, wringing her hands.

She watched him leave with growing panic. Twice in the space of a few minutes she'd been abandoned. First Snape and now Charlie. _Was this what her life was going to be like now? Forever alone? Cast aside and left to rot in a museum whose edges frayed reality?_

Forcing herself to straighten up, she turned back to the Playground, commanding her feet to move. They did so with great reluctance, taking her into the building with faltering steps. Almost straight away she felt the curse shift within her. Burrowing further down and entangling with her soul. A gasp left her mouth as intense pain flooded her body. It came and went in the span of a second, leaving behind a prickling sensation that hurt her skin.

She held her breath as she ventured inside, wincing when the door slammed shut behind her. It didn't echo like she expected it to. The sound simply disappeared into the air, almost as though it was swallowed up. She fixed her eyes on the door Charlie had indicated and stepped forward. Her feet tapped on the marble as she walked, matching the beating of her heart. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back, soaking into the material of her shirt. She'd never been so afraid in her whole life. Not even on that rain-soaked day when she'd first felt the curse manifest inside her.

Finally she reached the door, quickly opened it and found herself in a mirrored hallway. A line of candelabra was spread across the ceiling, throwing out flickering cold light that was reflected a thousand times over on the blurry mirrors, creating the illusion of a tunnel of light. At the end of the hall she could see a black door. It almost seemed to be watching her. Waiting for her to approach so it could ensnare her.

Her hands curled into white-knuckled fists, her fingernails digging into her palms as she desperately fought the urge to run. Instead she moved forward, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. The reflected Hermione's moved with her, slowly making their way towards the black door.

From the corner of her eyes she spotted movement. She twisted her head left and came face to face with her own startled reflection. Her hair hung down her back in loose, chocolate curls and her whiskey-coloured eyes regarded her mirror image with suspicion. She could have sworn she saw something move. And yet, she was the only one in the hallway. She could see every angle and corner from where she stood and there was nobody else present.

She shook off her unease and moved onwards. It seemed to take forever to reach the door. As though the hall was stretching away from her. Teasing her. She sped up, not caring that she resembled a terrified child. Her reflection accompanied her.

At last she made it to the door and if anything it looked even more ominous up close, if that were possible. Or perhaps it was just because she knew she'd be behind it soon, meeting the custodian of the Playground, that made it seem like that. Her body quivered at the thought but she was determined not to let him know how frightened she really was.

Biting her lip, she knocked. A second passed. Then two. The very air seemed to press against her, making her feel claustrophobic as the seconds crept by.

"Come."

The voice was muffled slightly by the thick wood, yet despite that, Hermione still felt the cultured tones and lazy arrogance trickling into her ear. Holding her breath she opened the door, eyes immediately focusing on the man sitting behind the desk. He looked to be in his mid thirties. His dark hair was swept back from the most angelic face she had ever laid eyes upon. Piercing green eyes regarded her with a coldness that made her shiver.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

She felt her stomach clench as he appraised her with bored contempt, before moving back up to meet her eyes.

"Ah, Miss Granger, you've arrived at last," he mocked. "Welcome to The Devil's Playground."

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Y **es, another fic, don't shout, but this one I couldn't resist. I will warn you that it will be dark and definitely earning its 'M' rating. Those who follow me on tumblr will already have an idea of the tone the fic is heading in, and will also know who the other Cursed are going to be. If you want to join the fun then you can follow me under the user name jheeley. You can also follow Catherine Morgenstern under the name lascitateognesperanza. Thanks for reading and if you feel like feeding the review box, it's just down there ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**This Chapter was edited by the lovely, Catherine Morgenstern who corrected my mistakes, altered some sentences, cut out some words and replaced them with others. She's also endlessly available to discuss the story with and thrash out ideas. Thanks, I love you *mouths name so no one will hear*. She's also translating the story into German, you can find the info for that in my profile page.**

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" **You can tread where demons play"**

Hermione stood on the threshold, unable to speak. Tom Riddle did not look like she'd expected him to. He was younger than she'd imagined, and so utterly perfect that she immediately felt shabby in comparison. He was wearing a pristine white shirt that was neatly tucked into black pants. A shiny leather belt encircled his slim waist. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows in precise folds which revealed his firm forearms to her curious gaze.

"Sit," he coolly ordered.

She swallowed down her unease and forced her feet to move towards his desk. It was large and topped with dark green leather. There was an ink stand and quill set neatly in front of him and several books were stacked along the edges in meticulous lines. The walls consisted of floor to ceiling shelves and held yet more books, some so old that the spines looked ready to fall off. The only source of light came from a single bulb that hung from the black ceiling. It cast a sickly glow that painted every surface with an odd yellow tinge. In the corner of the room stood a grandfather clock. The wood was dark and oily and its clock-face was a dirty cream colour circled with gilded Roman numerals.

The chair she sat on was hard-backed and extremely uncomfortable. It pinched her spine and offered no soft place to rest her bones against. She glanced up at Riddle and could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smirk cross his lips. It was enough for her to suspect that the chair was deliberately chosen for the discomfort of whoever sat on it.

A silent moment passed as they sized each other up. Tom calculatingly and Hermione cautiously.

"Are we to be enemies, Miss Granger?" he said, finally breaking the silence.

She clenched her teeth in annoyance as the need to answer his simple question swept through her. It felt like the words solidified in the pit of her stomach and then began to crawl up her throat to perch on the back of her tongue. She could only hold them there for so long before they would fill her mouth with acid. If she didn't let the answer spill out of her lips then she would pass out and awake to agony. But the worst thing was that she never knew what answer would slip free. It was as much of a surprise to her as to the one asking.

Unable to hold the answer in any longer, she opened her mouth and spoke. "No."

An indifferent smile pulled at his lips. "Splendid, then you will address me as Mr Riddle and I in turn will call you Miss Granger." He waited for her nod of acquiescence before he continued. "Tell me what you know of the Playground."

She frowned under his watchful gaze. "Not much to be honest. Rumours mostly."

Tom's head tilted to the side, "Amuse me with those rumours, Miss Granger."

A shiver rushed through her at the sibilant way he said her name. It was almost like he was tasting it, caressing the syllables as they passed his tongue. She didn't like it at all. It seemed too intimate for two strangers who had only just met. Shifting into a more comfortable position she thought back to every rumour she'd ever heard of the Playground and its inhabitants.

There were a lot.

"They say that it's dangerous," she slowly began, "and that only the desperate, greedy, and damned dare to even set foot inside its walls." Her eyes dropped to the desk, focusing on the ink well and quill. "The Cursed can never leave, and if they do, death follows swiftly after. I've heard bad things happen here frequently, and that you trade in secrets and blood."

Tom remained silent as her words were swallowed by the air. The grandfather clock ticked the seconds away with a finality that shredded her nerves. As more time passed, Hermione grew disconcerted and glanced up at him. He looked amused as he regarded her. No, not amused. Pleased.

"And yet you still came," he said.

"The alternative is death. I'm choosing to live."

An empty smile curved his lips. "For now at least," he murmured.

"What? What do you mean by that?" Hermione leant forward, alarmed at the slight threat his words contained.

All humour dropped from Riddle's face at her slightly bossy tone. "Tell me what you know of the Cursed," he commanded.

Hermione blinked at the sudden change in him. She could feel the chill he now emitted settling on her skin as softly as mist. "I...only rumours."

"More rumours?" he mocked, eyebrow raised. "How about I tell you some truth?"

She nodded and folded her shaking hands in her lap. "Yes, please."

Tom leant forward, bracing his forearms on the desk. "Once upon a time there was a boy born into a curse. His childhood was spent wandering this very building, teaching himself how to survive in the shadows. He never knew the touch of sunlight or walked through the rain, and his only companions were his fellow Cursed. An odd collection of people he was obliged to watch over."

Hermione listened to the hypnotic murmur of his voice as he told his tale. She was convinced that he was the boy in the story. But it was truly hard to be sure. His face was devoid of emotion as the words flowed from his lips. He might just as well have been discussing the weather and not the most compelling story she'd heard in her life.

"It was a curse passed down from his father, and his father before him. You might call it the Riddle family curse, or in the case of the others: Weasley, Greyback, Parkinson, Lovegood and Black." He watched her intently as he spoke. An odd gleam darkened his eyes as he watched his words sink in.

"Wait!" Hermione sat up straight. She'd hung on his every word but something in particular made her take notice. "Family curse?"

"Indeed," Tom drawled. "Every Cursed who has been unfortunate enough to enter these walls has at some time been linked to those names, be it through marriage or an illicit liaison."

"But then why am I here?" Her eyes darted from side to side, taking in the endless books as though they could provide her with an answer. "I'm not descended from any of those families. I'm sure of it!"

Tom's eyes took in her face with interest. "Are you?"

"Yes," she spat out. The curse providing the answer to his query as quickly as a bullet shot from a gun.

"Ah," his face grew distant. "Then not only are you Cursed, Miss Granger," his eyes refocused on her with deadly intent, "but also a puzzle."

"Perhaps it was mistake." She bit her lip as a surge of hope rushed through her. "The Curse wasn't meant for me at all! Do you think it can be transferred to the person who was supposed to have it?" Her eyes darkened to burnt caramel as excitement filled her heart.

Tom's blank face resembled a marble statue as he regarded her. "I'm afraid that would be impossible."

"You can't know that." Her hair began to frizz in agitation. "Ask me if it can be done!"

If his face had been blank before, now it was positively vacant. "I would suggest you rethink the way you address me in future. I dislike being ordered about."

Hermione shuddered at his frosty tone. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't...I'm sorry." She pressed her hands further into her lap and tried to compose herself before she took in a deep breath of the musty air. "Would you please ask me if it can be done."

For a long moment Tom stared at her, indifferent to her soft plea. The only sound came from the ticking clock and the odd creak of wood could be heard as the house shifted around them. She hated that about old houses. The way they would groan and creak as the ancient wood contracted and retracted. It always made her feel like someone had crept up behind her and hovered just out of sight. She shook that unsettling thought off as she looked at Riddle and willed him to ask her the question.

"Very well," he finally said. "Can your curse be transferred to another?"

Hermione held her breath as the answer began to travel up her throat. She felt it moving like a clot of syrup into her mouth. "No."

The answer resonated in her ears with devastating finality. The hope inside her vanished, replaced by bitter anger. Her eyes filled with tears and she quickly blinked them away before they could fall. She did not want to cry in front of Tom Riddle. He'd look upon them as a weakness and never see her as anything but feeble again. She fixed her gaze on the point between his eyebrows and waited.

An irritated sigh left his mouth. "Perhaps we can discuss the history of the Playground and your duties another time." His head turned to the side as he reached for one of the books stacked neatly on his desk. "You're clearly not ready for such conversation now."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but forced it closed at the warning look he sent her way. For the first time, she identified that feeling that had taken root in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't unease. It was terror. Tom Riddle was utterly terrifying. There was no...emotion behind his bottle-green eyes. She was certain he wouldn't so much as bat an eyelid even if she were bleeding out on the rug at his feet. He'd probably find it distasteful and inconvenient.

"The Twins can show you to your room," he said, somewhat distracted by the book he was now reading.

Hermione remained seated, unsure if she was supposed to seek out these twins or wait until they arrived. Her foot began to bounce up and down in nervousness as the minutes crept by.

"Is there a reason you're still occupying my office, Miss Granger?" Riddle asked, his eyes still fixed on the book.

"I...no." She pushed to her feet and clenched her hands by her sides so he wouldn't see them shake. "If you would be kind enough to tell me where the twins are?"

His gaze flicked up to meet hers with sly humour. "I am never kind, but just this once I will give you the answer. They are waiting outside the door."

She nodded her head and turned away from him. As she strode to the door she could feel him examine her. It felt like the blade of a knife being scraped back and forth across the nape of her neck. She ignored the sensation, instead reaching for the cool brass handle and opening the door. What she saw made her pause.

Her mind faltered in confusion. Two heads and...one body. For a long minute she just stood there, staring stupidly, her eyes moving up and down the Twins' conjoined body. From the waist down they looked perfectly normal. Slim, long legs encased by black leather pants. But as the waist met ribs their torso widened, it strained the brown shirt they wore, making the buttons pull tight. If Hermione were to try and hug them her hands wouldn't meet at the back. They had two arms, and broad shoulders that accommodated two heads. Both heads were capped with unruly carrot-coloured hair. Their faces were identical; freckled cheeks, sea-blue eyes and mischievous smiles that held a hint of cruelty.

"Hello," said the one on her right, "I'm George."

The other one spluttered out a laugh. "No. I'm George, he's Fred."

They each held out a hand for her to take. Bemused she reached forward.

"I'd advise against touching them, Miss Granger," Riddle spoke from behind her.

Startled she swung around to find the Playground's custodian standing a few feet away. He was close enough that she could take in his scent. Crushed grass and burnt oak.

"Make sure Miss Granger gets safely to her room," he said to the Twins before shutting the door to his office.

Once again Hermione found herself in the mirrored corridor. She glanced hesitantly at the Twins and offered them a small smile.

"Hello, my name's Hermione."

"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione," they said together, before bending at the waist and giving her a courtly bow. "If you would be so kind as to follow us."

She trailed behind them as they strolled out of the hall, her eyes fixed on the part of their necks that merged into one. _Was this their curse? But then why had Riddle advised her not to touch them?_

When they left the hall, the Twins began walking toward the stairs. "So, Granger tell us about yourself," Fred, or possibly George, said.

"Umm, I used to work in a library. I'm twenty-five-"

"Not the boring stuff!" they rudely interrupted.

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, ignoring the twins and looking around instead. The upstairs was full of shadowed corners and every step made the floorboards creak. Like downstairs the walls were painted green but up here they were cluttered with photographs. She paused, brow knitted in a frown and stepped forward to take a closer look. They were slightly blurred, black and white portraits. But that wasn't what caught her attention. It was the faces. Each one had been scratched out.

Unnerved, she flicked her eyes around and checked every photograph within sight. They were all the same.

"You'll be up there soon enough."

Hermione twisted to face the Twins. They were propped against the wall, arms crossed, expressions wicked.

"Why are the faces scratched out?" she asked.

"If we told you that we might just have to kill you." It was spoken with absolute sincerity.

She shuddered as fear crawled up her spine. They were serious. She could tell by the steady way they looked at her.

"I-"

"Are you curious about what our Curse is?"

She was bewildered by their change in subject and then scowled at the deliberate question they'd asked. "Yes," she said through clenched teeth.

A delighted grin spread from one face to another. They turned their heads and looked at each other, blue eyes dancing with mischief as they pushed off the wall and walked towards her. She shrunk away from them, her back touching the wall with a gentle thud. The Twins came closer and seemed to take delight in Hermione's panicked breaths and wide eyes. They stopped with only a tiny gap separating them. She felt crowded, trapped by the heat emanating from them and their towering height. The scent of candyfloss floated from their skin. It filled her nose and made her feel nauseous.

"It's our touch, you see," said the one on the right. George?

The one on the left, Fred, she was sure it was Fred, lifted his hand towards her cheek and let his fingers hover just over her skin. "One brings pleasure."

George lifted his arm and placed his fingers a breath away from her other cheek. "One brings pain."

Hermione felt a tear slip down her cheek as her fear finally broke free. "Don't hurt me."

"Why not? We would make you like it," they said in unison, their voices full of certainty.

"Leave me alone." Her eyes darted from one twin to the other, "If you don't, I'll tell Riddle."

The Twins huffed out a laugh and dropped their hands. "He won't care." They shook their heads in mock disappointment. "Looks like this one isn't going to be any fun, Fred."

Fred grunted, "She can join the game later." He exchanged a sly look with his brother, "they always do."

The breath, she'd subconsciously been holding, left her lungs in a hiss when they stepped away. Her body shook from the rush of adrenalin-fuelled terror caused by their words. She stared at the wall in front of her as she fought to regain her composure. The wall sconces flickered every few seconds, jarring her already fraught nerves.

"Come on, Granger," the Twins called, "do you want to see your room or not?"

"Yes," she muttered, despising her Curse with every fibre of her being.

She looked to the side to see them disappearing around a corner. She shoved away from the wall and marched after them with balled fists. When she turned the corner it was to see the Twins waiting outside a door at the end of the hall. She bit her lip and slowly walked towards them. On either side of her were doors, seven in all, and yet more of the creepy photographs with the faces erased.

The twins opened the door they were standing in front of. "Home Sweet Home."

Hermione ordered her feet to move towards them but stopped when she came within touching distance. From her position she could see only half the room, but the half she could see contained a window. The sight lifted her heart the smallest amount.

"This used to be Percy's room," George said, "He was our brother and the resident know-it-all before you came along."

She switched her gaze to the Twins. One examined his fingernails in apparent boredom, and the other ruffled his hair until it stood up in untidy spikes. Curiosity overcame her as she regarded them. "I don't understand. How are you here then?"

"Us Weasley's are twice cursed," they said, "our ancestors must really have fucked off whoever created the Curse."

Hermione frowned but said nothing. She didn't like the Twins and she certainly didn't want to get into a lengthy conversation with them. Perhaps that's why they were being so nasty to her. Because their brother had died and she had taken his place.

"Well...umm, I'm sorry for your loss," she said.

"We're not. Percy was a bore."

She didn't know what to say to that so she kept quiet. Instead she inched her way into her room. She turned and grasped the edge of the door and prepared to slam it closed. The Twins watched her with identical smirks.

"Percy died in that very bed," George drawled.

Hermione felt ice creep down her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in instant fear. She wanted to turn, to look at the bed and check for a body. Even though she knew that was ludicrous and was probably what they'd had in mind in the first place. Instead, she held the door more tightly.

"Why would you say such a thing about your brother?" she asked.

The Twins lifted their eyebrows in apparent surprise. "We only wanted to let you to know whose cold arms will embrace you in your sleep," Fred said.

George nodded his head in agreement with his twin. "Or stand at the bottom of the bed; he might do that, too."

Hermione slammed the door shut and leant against it. The first tears came soon after, accompanied by the Twins' gleeful laughter.

 _Something ancient stirred within the bowels of the Playground. It stretched tendrils of awareness up and out, floating like mist to fill the rooms and hallways. It sought out the Cursed, inhaling the scent of decay and madness that floated around them like perfume. All except one. She smelled of strength, hope, and the promise of broken things. Soon, very soon, the Devil's Playground would be reduced to_ _ashes and dust;_ _the wisp of a memory._

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 **Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, and adding this story to your various lists. So, did you like Tom? Or how about our twisted twins? Please review and tell me your thoughts.**

 **Keep an eye out for a companion piece Catherine Morgenstern has written. She'll be posting it this weekend. It's called Hermione's Predecessor and tells Percy's tale. It's the first thing she's written and posted, so please reward her bravery with some lovely words :)**

 **And finally, the chapter titles are taken from The Devil's Playground by the Rigs.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter edited by my partner in crime – Catherine Morgenstern.  
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" **It's your Candyland"**

Hermione didn't know how long she spent crying. Time seemed to be suspended inside the Playground's gloomy walls. As though it held its breath, in an attempt to draw out the terror of those who dared to enter. The Twins had vanished from the hallway ages ago, yet she still couldn't stem the constant flood of tears their cruel words had elicited. Her cheeks were drenched, as was the top of her wool jumper and the skin beneath it. She pulled in a breath of stale air and tore her gaze away from the bed. The bed that Percy Weasley had died in. She wouldn't be sleeping in it. Not now, not ever.

She took in the strange room for the first time. A pale green carpet covered the floor and matching drapes framed the large window that looked out onto the grounds. There was a bookcase to her right, a tall solid piece of wood that was stained a dark oak. It was empty of books but full of dust. Beside that sat a chair and desk. Both looked battered and in need of a good clean. On either side of the bed were two squat cupboards, with matching porcelain lamps on top. They were switched on and gave off a soft amber glow. In the furthest corner she could see a large chest of drawers and another door beside them. It stood slightly ajar, revealing a white-tiled floor and the edge of a wash basin.

Hermione sucked in her lip, licking away the salty tears that covered them. She didn't have any clothes to fill the drawers with. Snape had told her to leave her belongings behind. He'd said Riddle didn't allow personal possessions to enter his home and anything she needed would be provided. She hadn't liked it, especially as she had no family to entrust them to, but in the end conceded defeat and left them with a friend. She was glad now; if she'd brought them, they would be forever tainted and become a constant reminder of what her old life had been like.

Pushing her misery aside, Hermione stood up and left the safety of the door. Her feet sank into the plush carpet as she made her way toward the window. The glass was thick and slightly opaque and when she pressed her hand to it; cold to the touch. The view beyond revealed mist that clung to the trees and veiled the lawn in wispy smoke. Everything looked smothered...almost otherworldly. Even the branches seemed to sag to the ground in defeat.

A knock sounded behind her, making her jump. Her heart skipped a beat before starting to pound frenetically against her ribs. She turned around to stare at the door. _Was it those awful_ _T_ _wins again? Was it Tom Riddle?_ For a long moment, Hermione remained where she was, feet frozen to the spot. Her eyes slid frantically along the wood as if it held the answer as to who was on the other side. Another knock sounded; this time louder and more insistent.

She gathered what little courage she had left and walked to the door. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle and pulled. A woman with waistlength light blond hair, pale blue eyes and a dreamy expression was revealed. She wore a long lacy pearl-coloured gown that shimmered with iridescent sequins. At least a dozen necklaces circled her slim neck, her wrists sported several bracelets and every finger was adorned with a chunky silver ring.

"Hello," she said, "my name's Luna." She cocked her head to the side and stared beyond her shoulder and into her room.

Hermione blinked in startled bemusement. "Umm…hello Luna, I'm Hermione."

"Yes, I know." Her narrow lips curved into a smile. "I'm to bring you down to dinner."

"Oh. Well, I'm not very hungry. I think I might just stay here instead."

Luna's eyes darted towards her, seeming almost alarmed. "I don't think Mr Riddle would allow that. It's tradition, you see."

Hermione frowned. "Dinner is tradition?"

"Only this one." She lifted a hand and began to fiddle with one of her necklaces, her gaze once again wandering. "We always welcome a new resident with a dinner. It's a lovely way to get to know each other."

Hermione had already met the Twins and Tom Riddle and she wasn't sure she wanted to meet anyone else. Although Luna didn't seem too scary. A little odd, maybe, but not frightening. And she was curious about who the other Cursed were and what their affliction made them able to do.

Her gaze dropped to Luna's elegant gown. "I don't have anything to wear."

"That's quite alright, nobody will expect you to dress up." Her pale eyes came to rest on Hermione's tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes. "But perhaps you'd like to wash the sorrow from your face first?"

She immediately blushed bright red in shame and embarrassment. "Of course. If you could just give me a moment?"

Luna nodded and began to hum softly to herself as Hermione made her way to the bathroom. It was a small square room with a tub, basin, and toilet crammed inside. The walls were painted a lurid shade of purple that Hermione instantly hated. A mirror was positioned above the basin that was only just big enough for her to see her face. She quickly turned on the tap and winced when the pipes started to rattle and groan.

The water was icy as she scooped it into her hands and splashed it onto her face. She did it five times, relishing the way the liquid cooled her heated flesh. When she was finished, she picked up one of the soft towels and patted her face dry. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were still a little red-rimmed and there was a bitterness about her lips that no amount of water could wash away. She threw the towel aside and turned away from the mirror, disgusted by her own reflection.

When she returned to the room, Luna was still waiting in the hallway. She was turned to the side and talking to the air in front of her, it looked like the blue had faded from her eyes, leaving behind milky-white orbs.

"Who are you talking to?" Hermione asked as she stepped towards her.

Luna's eyes turned back to normal and slowly regained focus. "I'm talking to the spirits."

Hermione's stomach churned with unease. "Spirits?"

"Yes, they're all around us." She smiled softly at the vacant air that filled the hallway. "The Playground is full of lost souls."

The fear that had begun to recede returned in full force. "Are you talking about ghosts? Is this place haunted?" Her eyes darted back to the bed.

"Of course. But then, so are most places really. It's just that most people don't know how to listen."

"And you do?" Hermione said, wondering if she dared ask about Percy.

Luna smiled serenely. "It's my Curse. I can talk to the dead and if you give me your palm, I can read your future as well."

"No thank you, I'd rather not know." She curled her hands into fists and made her way into the hallway. "Are these ghosts dangerous?"

"Only if you provoke them, mostly they just want to talk and remember what it's like to be alive."

Hermione closed the door to her room and turned to Luna. The scent of incense enveloped her. A musty, smokey smell, that floated from the blonde's hair and skin. She fiddled with the bottom of her jumper as Luna remained in place and stared into space.

"Umm...I'm ready to go now."

"Okay."

The blonde didn't move.

"I don't know where the dining room is," prompted Hermione after several minutes of silence.

"Oh!" Luna brushed a hand through her wispy hair. "Follow me."

Hermione didn't look at the photos as she trailed behind Luna. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the gown's white hem. It was slightly frayed and a loose strand of thread kept catching on the floorboards. She didn't think she'd ever felt so nervous in her life. But the thought of sitting down to dinner with the other Cursed, frightened her. The three she'd met were just so...strange and terrifying, and she was certain the others would be equally as odd.

The closer they got to the dining room, the more queasy Hermione became. Her backbone seemed to have withered the moment the Curse rose inside her and she was still waiting for it to stiffen back up again.

Luna led her down the staircase, across the glass-topped entrance and through a door she hadn't noticed earlier. At the end of the narrow hall, an ominous looking set of double doors stood tightly sealed. Her heart was pounding ferociously as the distance slowly decreased. Sweat trickled down her back. She folded her arms and chewed nervously on her lip.

Luna was at the door now but she paused before she opened it and she gave Hermione a reassuring smile. She tried to return it, but the expression felt stiff and wrong on her face. She held her breath as it was swung open. Flickering, yellow light flooded out to spill onto the floor at their feet.

The room was large, painted midnight blue, and dominated by a huge ebony wooden table that was set in the middle. It stretched from one side of the room to the other. A massive fireplace ate up most of the wall opposite her. It was lit, and even from her place by the door Hermione could feel the heat from the dancing flames. Large stained-glass windows took up two walls, but it was diffficult to make out what they depicted as there was no sunlight to illuminate the design and paint the room with their colours.

There were several people already seated at the table. Tom Riddle sat at the head, his presence domineering those around him. It seemed as though a dark aura exuded from him that smothered those in his vicinity. Everyone else seemed to feel it, too, which seemed to be the reason why they had taken seats as far away from him as possible. He was wearing a black button down shirt that made his complexion seem even paler and dark grey trousers. The top three buttons were undone, showing the hollow of his throat and he had his sleeves folded up to his elbows again. Her gaze paused briefly on the Twins, who waved at her and grinned. They were still clad in black leather pants but their shirt was emerald green in colour now.

"Miss Granger, come meet your fellow Cursed," Riddle commanded.

Hermione stepped hesitantly into the room and allowed her eyes to drift towards the other people. A man with shoulder length black hair, a neatly trimmed moustache and beard stood up. He was wearing a dark purple Victorian suit and had piercing grey eyes that regarded her with interest.

"Sirius Black, Kitten," he beckoned her forward with a coy smile, "and it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Hello, you can call me Hermione."

"What a delightful name but I think I'll stick with Kitten." His smile turned into a grin at her ill-concealed annoyance. He winked, adding to her ire.

"Ignore him," said a stunningly beautiful woman to his left, "he's an arse."

Hermione switched her gaze from Sirius to the woman, taking in the fall of long black hair that lay like silken strands on her bare shoulders and fell halfway down her back in soft waves. Her waist was tiny, pulled in by the blood-red corset she wore and a tight black kneelength pencil skirt accentuated her slim long legs. Her slender swanlike throat was adorned with a heavy diamond choker.

"Pansy Parkinson. I won't lie and say it's a pleasure," she switched her half-lidded gaze to Sirius, pinning him under her onyx stare, "the arse would only call me out on it."

"I don't understand," Hermione said, flinching when Luna pressed a hand to the small of her back and pushed, guiding her gently into the room.

She didn't want to go in. She could already feel Tom Riddle's eyes almost possessively sliding over her. And the closer she got to the table, the worse the sensation became. She didn't dare look at him.

"Sirius can smell a lie," Luna murmured.

Pansy stood, hiked up her skirt and kicked her right leg to the side. It twisted halfway up and swung behind her back with a dry popping sound. Her foot, resplendent in a black patent leather stiletto, now rested on her left shoulder.

"As you can see, I'm somewhat flexible and able to fulfil whatever sexual desire you might have." It was said flippantly but Hermione could hear the bitterness hidden beneath.

"She won't fulfil our desires, will she George?" the Twins leered at Pansy, "not yet, Fred, not yet."

Her response was to snap down her leg and retake her seat. It was all done in one effortless move that reminded Hermione of a well-oiled mannequin. "You will never get me to play your sadistic little games."

The Twins huffed out a laugh. "Says the woman who fucked someone to death last week," they said in that perfectly synchronised voice that made Hermione's hair stand on end.

She felt a bubble of hysteria rise from her chest and into her throat. _Who were these people? How on earth was she supposed to live with them?_

Her frightened gaze darted towards Riddle. He was watching them with bored indifference. The moment their eyes met he gave her a mocking smile.

"Won't you sit, Miss Granger?" His eyebrow rose in silent challenge. "You have only Mr Greyback left to meet."

Hermione held her breath as Luna pulled out a seat and gestured for her to sit. She sank down, biting her lip when her backside met the hard chair. Across from her sat a man who hadn't yet spoken. He had dark brown hair that was dusted with grey at his temples, angular features and the most extraordinary amber eyes that she had ever seen. A dark blue shirt adorned his broad shoulders while his muscular legs were encased in form fitting dark jeans. The moment their eyes met, he flashed her a smile that didn't reach his eyes and bared his teeth. They were rough, jagged. Almost as if they'd been sharpened with a metal file.

"I'm Fenrir. Keep out of my way and we won't have any trouble." His voice was a rough growl, almost like the words snagged on the back of his throat before slipping free.

She remained silent under their stares. Her eyes fixed on the snow-white soup bowl in front of her as she tried to control the fear that filled her chest. Several minutes crawled by, the air frosty and full of tension. The fire crackled and spat, releasing heat and giving a very good impression of what hell must be like.

"Now that we've all been introduced, shall we begin?" Riddle said, when it had almost become unbearable.

There were murmurs of assent around the table.

"Filch? You may serve us now." The Playground's custodian was clearly used to issuing orders and expected them to be obeyed immediately.

The moment he stopped speaking, a thin man with the sourest face Hermione had ever seen emerged from a shadowed corner. He carried a large copper serving pot in his hands. It looked heavy and his hands shook under the weight. He ambled towards Tom and ladled an unidentifiable cream-coloured soup into his bowl, before making his way slowly down the length of the table.

"Tell me about yourself, Kitten," Sirius asked, as the sound of soup splashing into bowls reached her ears.

The Twins leant forward and answered for her. "She used to work in a library, she's twenty-five, prissy, and probably frigid."

Hermione's eyes snapped up to the Twins in embarrassed anger. George was leering at her and Fred was grinning.

"I'm-"

"It's okay," they said, as each of them reached down to pick up a spoon, "we can cure you of that in just a few hours."

She narrowed her eyes, aware that everyone paid close attention and was waiting to see what her response would be. "I doubt that very much, revulsion doesn't have a cure."

Sirus barked out a laugh and banged his hand on the table. The force of it made the cutlery rattle, which made Filch grumble an impressive swear word. She thought she saw the ghost of a smile touch Pansy's lips. Luna stared into space. Fenrir examined his nails. And Riddle looked at her with cool detachment, but she thought she saw a hint of amusement in the depths of those impossibly dark green eyes.

She didn't like that. Him looking at her so intently. It was like he was dissecting her, pulling her apart to figure out how best to either control or break her. Hermione had begun to suspect that there wasn't much difference between the two where Tom Riddle was concerned.

Filch stepped to her side, blocking her view of the custodian. She was grateful to the angry looking man who smelt of mildew and onions. She held her breath as he ladled soup into her bowl and muttered, "Thank you."

When he moved past her to serve Luna, she kept her gaze fixed on the bowl but could still feel Riddle's stare probing into her. From the corner of her eye she saw the Twins already eating. They scooped the soup into their mouths like children, occasionally feeding each other and laughing.

"The Curse must have been a shock to you, Hermione," Pansy said, twisting her arm into an impossible angle behind her shoulders to lift the hair off her neck.

"Yes. I had no idea what was happening to me at first," she answered, picking up her spoon and dipping it into her soup.

Sirius leant forward, his forehead wrinkled by a frown. "But you must have had some idea, the Curse runs in families after all."

"Not in mine," Hermione murmured as she tasted what turned out to be chicken soup.

She was barely aware of the silence her answer caused. Only when it stretched on and on, did she look up. They were all looking at her with stunned expressions. All except Tom, who looked coolly amused.

"You mean to say that you're not related to one of the families?" Pansy asked.

Hermione's cheek twitched as the answer rushed up her throat. "No."

"But how is that possible?" Sirius demanded, as each of the Cursed turned to look at Riddle.

His eyes were half-lidded in apparent contemplation, almost cat-like in his arrogance and regard of them. "I have yet to determine the answer."

She shuddered as a thousand images filled her head of how Tom Riddle would unravel the mystery of her unexpected Curse. None of them were pleasant.

A booming knock reverberated through the air and made her flinch. Each one of the Cursed tensed at the sound, their faces smoothing into blank masks. Even the Twins looked sombre as they looked at the doorway behind her. Hermione felt fear settle in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes darted to Riddle and found that he was staring at her.

He continued to meet her eyes as Filch made his way out of the room. She leant forward and dropped the spoon. Her hands trembled as she placed them on her lap. The air surrounding her felt almost alive. She bit her lip when the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway. The tension increased as everyone around the table seemed to hold their breath. Apart from Riddle. He remained aloof and faintly annoyed. His icyness astounded her.

She felt a puff of air touch her neck and quickly turned. The door was open and on the threshold stood a slim woman with lank brown hair. Hermione suspected that she had once been beautiful but now she looked haggard. Her skin hung off her bones and had a greyish tint that hinted at long illness. There was a desperate glint in her eyes as she sought out first Fenrir, and then Tom.

"Please," she said. Her voice was a raspy husk that had a peculiar wetness to it.

"Miss Greengrass, I do not enjoy unexpected visits." His eyes were predatory as he addressed her. "Remove yourself from my Playground, this instant."

The woman stumbled forward, her skeletal hand reaching into her pocket. "I have jewellery." She pulled a handful of glittering rings, necklaces, and bracelets from her coat.

Riddle sneered, "Put your trinkets away and leave. I will not ask you again."

The warning in his voice was crystal clear. The sound of it sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.

"But the doctor said I don't have long left!" Her despairing gaze darted once again to Fenrir. "Please. I'll do anything you ask, just please let me live."

Hermione frowned and looked at the indifferent Greyback. It was as if he couldn't hear the anguished whimpers that left the woman's lips. Nobody seemed to. The other Cursed appeared just as unconcerned, apart from the Twins, who now had identical looks of anticipation lighting up their faces.

"You appear confused, Miss Granger." Riddle's almost seductive voice pulled her attention away from the others and onto him.

"I am." She pressed her hands together until they shook. "Would you please explain what's happening?"

For a long moment he regarded her silently, his eyes unblinking. Then he spoke. "Mr Greyback is a werewolf, Miss Granger."

Hermione's head snapped to the side to look at Fenrir. He grinned at her, displaying those jagged teeth again and then he winked. She pulled in a breath and returned her shocked gaze to Riddle.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Whilst in human form he is able to pass on his healing abilities," his eyes flicked to the weeping Greengrass, "and thus cure any illness."

"Then why hasn't he done so?" Hermione demanded.

Riddle's jaw clenched and the warning was unmistakable when he reminded her, "Careful, Miss Granger, I've already informed you about your tone when you address me."

The urge to apologise was strong but Hermione clamped her lips tightly shut and swallowed hard. She detested bad manners, but she would not say sorry to him when a dying woman was standing a few feet away and the ability to heal her sat in the same room.

When no apology materialised, his eyes narrowed and took on a cruel edge. "Then perhaps the decision should be yours." He stood up and began walking towards her.

She shrank down into the chair, aware of how very quiet everyone else was as they watched Riddle stalk towards her. Her breath came in panicked gasps when he stopped next to her. She didn't dare look up as his hand settled on her shoulder. The heat of it seared through her jumper and burnt her skin. He leant down so that his lips were next to her ear.

"Will you save her, Miss Granger?" His breath hit her cheek and she couldn't suppress the involuntary shiver it caused.

Hermione gave a jerky nod.

His fingers clenched, squeezing her bones. "I want to hear you say it."

Her eyes darted to the woman. She was trembling and her tear-streaked face looked at Hermione with desperate hope. "Yes. Save her."

At her words, the Greengrass woman dropped to her knees and sobbed. "Thank you," she said between wet gasps.

"Do it! Show Miss Granger the price Miss Greengrass is willing to pay for her life," Riddle said to Fenrir from where he towered above her.

Hermione's stomach churned when the wolf pushed away from the table. His expression was shuttered as he approached the Greengrass woman. He reached down and curled his hand around her arm. A quick yank and the woman was on her feet. Fenrir bent down to nuzzle the skin of her neck. He inhaled.

"You smell of rot," he growled.

Hermione made to turn her head away but Riddle's hand jumped from her shoulder to the back of her head. He threaded his fingers through her curls and fisted the soft strands to hold her in place. The painful pressure made her heart skip a beat.

"You'll watch every second, Miss Granger," he murmured intimately right into her ear.

She clenched her jaw as Fenrir trailed his nose up the woman's neck. _Why wasn't he just biting her? Was he drawing it_ _out_ _on purpose to punish her?_

Fenrir opened his lips when his mouth met her cheek, those pointed teeth pressed into her skin, leaving bright red indentations. Greengrass whimpered but didn't try to move away. She was still holding the jewellery in her hand. Not one person in the room shifted or spoke as Fenrir sank his teeth into her skin. Blood trickled down her face to drip on the floor at their feet.

Hermione swallowed. Her heart reverberated with manic force against the cage of her ribs and she could scarcely breathe with Riddle looming above her, his hand still in her hair. But then Fenrir yanked his head back, taking a chunk of the woman's cheek with him. It left a raw, bloody wound behind. An inhuman scream was torn from Greengrass' lips, but she managed to hold still as Fenrir began to move his jaw. The piece of flesh made a squelchy sound as he chewed.

Hermione gagged and tried to pull away from Riddle, but his grip was relentless.

"Every second, Miss Granger," he cruelly reminded her, almost gleefully. She got the impression he enjoyed her discomfort immensely.

When the wolf bent down to lap at the wound she thought she might be sick but was unable to look away. The horrendous sight of his blood-streaked tongue probing the gash made her stomach turn. Then once again, he sank his teeth into her skin. This time beside her lips. He kept his teeth in place for a few long seconds to let his saliva enter her bloodstream, before ripping another chunk of her flesh free. She was prepared this time for the sound he made as he chewed. But it didn't make it any less awful.

The side of Greengrass' face was a mess. The wounds were uneven and leaking blood. She could see the shredded edges of muscles pulsing as the woman mewled and cried. Finally, Fenrir let her go. She sagged to the ground in a pool of blood and began to crawl away.

"Leave the jewellery behind," Riddle commanded.

She opened her hand without even pausing and left them on the floor.

"Now, Miss Granger," Riddle intoned, "you will get to see the price Fenrir has to pay."

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading and adding this to your various lists. The review box isn't so far away and I'd love to hear your thoughts. Catherine Morgenstern is writing another companion piece to this story. It's Charlie's tale. So keep an eye out for it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**As always a huge thank you to my wingman, Catherine Morgenstern. Thanks, dear.**

* * *

 **"Where dreamers dance"**

Hermione stared at Tom Riddle in disbelief. He was smiling coolly at her as he gestured for the others to clear the room. She took a step to follow them.

"Not you, Miss Granger," Riddle drawled.

She turned to face him and frowned.

"You will remain here with Mr Greyback until morning."

Hermione didn't like the smug tone of his voice one bit. There was a gleeful edge to it that made her instantly suspicious. She glanced at Greyback and saw that he was sweating profusely. His eyes were glazed and fixed on the trail of blood the Greengrass woman had left behind. The sound of a door closing pulled her attention away from him, when the noise of a lock clicking into place reached her ears she rushed forward to pull on the door. It wouldn't budge.

"It's locked!" she exclaimed. "He's bloody well locked us in!"

She turned back to Fenrir to see him swaying. His skin had paled and he was panting. She took a hesitant step toward him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm dying." He staggered back, his feet dragging on the floor. "So, no, I'm not okay."

Hermione felt her heart Skip a beat. "What?! I...I don't understand."

"I took her sickness into myself." He sagged to his knees, his palms slapping against the floor to prevent himself from landing on his face. "And now I have to die."

"But-"

"Only for a second, then I'll come back." Feverish amber eyes rose to meet hers. "I'll need to eat." His gaze dropped to trace the line of her neck. "You wouldn't taste like rot," he muttered.

Hermione backed away until her backside hit the door. Without taking her eyes off him, she thumped the heavy wood with her fist. "Unlock the door!"

"There's nobody out there," Fenrir said.

She grimaced when a wet cough bubbled up his throat. It went on for ages, finally ending with him spitting out a glob of tar-thick blood. When he'd finished he fell to his side and began to shake. Hermione chewed nervously on her lip and wondered if she should do something to help. Although she had no idea what. She pulled her gaze away from him and studied the flame lit room. It was still stiflingly hot and her skin felt bathed in sweat. Her eyes darted to the shadowed corners, looking for another door. She didn't find one.

A groan pulled her attention back to Fenrir. His was doubled over, clutching his stomach. Rivulets of sweat were poring down his cheeks in a continuous stream. Hermione swallowed down her fear and walked towards him. Her feet hit the floor with a hard tapping sound that immediately faded away. She stopped within touching distance.

"What can I do?" she whispered.

He bared his teeth and growled at her. Hermione frowned and stepped towards one of the chairs. She turned it to face him and sat down. For the next two hours she listened to Fenrir moan and whimper. Watched as his skin turned grey and his amber eyes became bloodshot. When he started to have a fit she jumped up and ran towards him. His head was slamming against the floor as his body convulsed and shook. Her hands trembled as she stood over him, not knowing what to do. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto her chest.

The moment the fit ended she sank to her knees beside him. His breath was wheezing in and out of his foam-coated lips. She could feel the heat pouring off his feverish skin, but when she reached out a hesitant hand to touch his wrist, his skin was ice cold.

"There must be something I can do," she whispered.

His amber eyes struggled to focus on her. The colour had faded and every one of the veins that surrounded the iris' had broken. It looked like his eyes were full of blood. He opened his mouth and Hermione instinctively leant closer to listen. Only it was vomit that spewed out of his throat and not words. The acrid scent filled the air and she scrambled away from the rapidly spreading mess. Climbing to her feet she twisted to the table and reached for a napkin. By the time she'd turned back around he'd been sick again. It was steaming and had thick clots of blood in it.

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione circled until she was behind him. She carefully bent down and looped her hands under his arms. Fenrir growled. The low sound seemed to vibrate against her skin and made the tiny hairs rise up on the back of her neck.

"I'm going to move you, so you're not lying in your sick," Hermione said.

Greyback grunted which she took as consent. He was heavier than he looked but the hardwood floor made it easy for her to slide him away from the slimy liquid. The moment they were clear, Hermione used the napkin to clean his mouth. The cream-coloured material came away smeared in blood. She rolled him onto his side and looked around for a cushion or something soft to lay beneath his head. There wasn't anything in sight.

A choking cough pulled her attention back to him. Her eyes widened in alarm when she saw a steady stream of watery blood trailing from his mouth and nose. When she looked closer she spotted it seeping from his ears as well. Her eyes trailed down his body, stopping at his crotch where a dark stain was spreading. It was almost like his insides were melting and escaping his body through whatever orifice was available.

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth in disgust. Even his eyes were leaking a yellowish, pink fluid. As she watched, he began to shudder violently. At first she thought he was fitting again but when she stepped closer she saw that he was holding himself so tense that his muscles were shaking.

She rushed to the door and began to thump and kick at the hard wood. "Let us out! He needs a doctor!"

A heavy silence met her words.

-OOooooooooooOO-

Fenrir could dimly hear the Granger girl shouting. It was no use. Riddle wouldn't open the door until he was ready too. Greyback didn't care either way, being in a bed wouldn't make lying in his own shit any more comfortable. And there wasn't a doctor in the world that could save him now. He could already feel death stealing the breath from his lungs. A familiar kiss that no longer scared him. It had once. That first time he'd felt his bones crumble and his organs turn to mush.

He vividly remembered the night the curse sprung to life. He'd picked up a girl from a bar. A pretty thing with silky red hair and ripe curves. The full moon was days away and the need to fuck away his agitation was intense. He hadn't even waited to take her home, simply pulled her into the woods and taken her amongst the trees. The scent of damp earth had filled his lungs as he'd pushed into her wet heat. He could still hear her groan as he'd forced his way inside. He'd thrown back his head and hissed at the sky, the silver moonlight filtering through the branches to gild their flesh as he'd fucked her with hard thrusts.

"Harder!" she'd moaned.

Fenrir had obliged, pulling her back by her hair and mouthing her neck. His teeth grazed her skin, before sinking deep. His sharp fangs had sliced through her flesh with ease, scalding blood had filled his mouth. She'd tasted sour and he'd immediately pushed her away.

She'd looked back at him in confusion. "What is it?"

"You taste of decay."

Her pretty blue eyes had widened in outrage and guilt as she'd scrambled to her feet and away from him. "Jerk." The word thrown over her shoulder.

Fenrir had sagged to the ground and for the first time in his life...he'd felt ill. His stomach had churned, his bones had ached and a scalding fever had swept through him. The cold realization that the Curse had passed to him had almost made him black out. It was only the wolf's presence inside that had calmed his churning thoughts.

Dying that first time had been an agonizingly slow affair. The pain had been more intense than when he transformed into his furry skin. He'd screamed, his body contorted into a small ball. Then known utter despair as his bowels and bladder had failed. Darkness crept up on him and he knew no more until hunger had stirred in his stomach. He'd killed a fox and ate it's warm flesh.

The animal's blood had been sweet and tangy as it oozed down his throat. Not diseased like the girl's. He'd wondered if she'd known she was ill. That hint of guilt he'd spotted told him she probably had. As soon as he'd been able to walk, he'd made his way to the Playground. His clothes had still been stained with shit and piss. Riddle had been waiting for him, eyes coolly assessing.

Fenrir blinked his way back to the present to see Granger hovering over him. Her cheeks were damp with tears but her eyes were fierce as she regarded him. She was speaking, her mouth forming words that he was unable to hear. Her wild hair tumbled around her shoulders, swaying forward until the soft strands almost touched his face.

Black dots floated into his vision. The pain faded. His heart gave one last treacherous thump before stopping. He wondered if Riddle would unlock the door before he came back. He'd need to feed after all. It would be a shame for her pretty neck to bear his mark.

-OOOOO-

Hermione saw the moment that Fenrir died. His body went perfectly still and the light faded from his eyes. The skin seemed to shrink onto his bones, the fat and muscle beneath disappearing. His chiselled features became almost skeletal. It lasted for one second, two, before he hissed in a breath and came back to life.

She backed away when his eyes snapped open. They settled on her with unnerving intensity, tracking her as she moved towards the door.

"Going somewhere?" he growled.

Her heart thudded against her ribs with painful force. "Leave me alone."

Fenrir grinned, displaying bloodstained teeth. "I'm hungry." He began stalking towards her.

Hermione sucked in a panicked breath and looked for a way out. The door was still locked and the windows were too high. Even if she had the time to pull a chair across and stand on top, she wouldn't be able to shatter the glass. The sepia-coloured panes were criss-crossed with lead. Breaking them would be impossible.

Twisting to the table, she spotted a knife. It didn't look particularly sharp but it would be better than nothing. She lunged for it just as Fenrir crashed into the back of her. They hit the table together, knocking the half-full bowls of soup to the floor. Hermione stretched out her hand, her fingers clawing for the knife. Greyback had her pinned in place, the weight of his body holding her down. A rough hand pulled on her hair, drawing the curls off her neck. Hot breath fanned her skin, bringing with it the scent of vomit and blood.

Hermione scrambled to the side, the tips of her fingers touching the knife's cool handle. She winced when a moist tongue licked the skin under her ear. Her fingers finally closed around the knife. Teeth grazed her neck and she punched back with the knife.

"Fuck!" Fenrir shouted.

Hermione felt warm blood slide over her hand.

"Attacking my Cursed, Miss Granger?" Tom Riddle's voice spoke from the doorway.

"Get him off me!" she hissed.

Something made a loud thud on the table next to her. She turned her head and saw a lump of raw meat the size of her fist. It was full of veins and leaking blood. Fenrir shifted off her and picked up the meat. The moment his weight moved, Hermione shoved away from the table and ran to the door. As she passed Riddle, he snaked out a hand and grabbed her wrist.

"Were the consequences of the Curse not to your liking?" he mocked.

Hermione folded her lips into a thin line. "That was a horrid thing to do," she said.

His fingers bit into her wrists, squeezing until she felt her bones flex. "You will find there are many...horrid...things in the Playground." He leant down until his breath stirred the soft curls by her ear. "The questions is; will you survive them?"

Hermione clenched her teeth as the answer crawled up her throat. She felt a second of intense fear that the answer would be no. That the Playground or one of its inhabitants would kill her.

But then.

"Yes," popped free.

Riddle's eyes narrowed in contemplation. The green darkening to almost black. The only sound as he regarded her was the wet chewing of Fenrir eating the meat. Hermione tore her wrist out of his grasp before he could pepper her with more questions. She scowled at him and lifted her chin.

"You have your answer, now leave me alone." His face contorted in rage at her defiant tone.

She turned away before he could answer and strode to her room. His eyes bored into her until she was lost from sight. As soon as she reached the room, she slammed the door shut and made her way towards the desk. Opening the drawer, Hermione searched for some paper and a pen. She needed to make a list of questions.

Questions that she could give to someone to ask her.

Questions about how to break the Curse.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! I'm hopelessly behind on replying to reviews but I promise you I will get to you this weekend.**


	5. Chapter 5

**The queen of grammar, Catherine Morgenstern was kind enough to beta this chapter for me. Thanks, dear.**

* * *

 **"I swear it won't cost much"**

Hermione completed the list in just under two hours. Most of that time had been spent reading over each of the ten questions carefully to make sure they were worded perfectly and would tell her what she needed to know. But it was the first that was the most important; _Can the Curse be broken?_

The answer to that would determine if the rest were needed at all and her main dilemma was finding someone trustworthy to help. The problem was that she didn't trust any of the Playground's inhabitants. Tom Riddle had an agenda she had yet to figure out, both the Twins and Fenrir scared the crap out of her, Luna looked incapable of holding a conversation for more than a few minutes and Sirius had seemed more interested in her breasts than anything she had to say. Pansy was a possibility, but Hermione wasn't sure if she would run to Tom and relay their conversation.

She needed somebody neutral. Somebody she could trust. Biting her lip, she walked to the window and glanced outside. The sky was a washed-out grey that echoed her mood perfectly. Leaning her head against the glass, she glared at the untidy grounds. The trees looked like they wanted to sink into the earth and die and every blade of grass sagged in defeat. A flash of red caught her attention and she narrowed her eyes as she spotted Charlie Weasley striding between the miserable trees.

"Of course," she whispered.

He would be ideal. She even recalled him saying that he never entered the house. Turning around, she rushed out of her room and through the Playground's gloomy halls. The air seemed to condense, almost as if it were seeking to halt her progress and trap her inside. She brushed that disturbing thought aside and tugged the front door open. A cold breeze touched her face as she left the house and stepped onto the overgrown path.

It felt so good to be outside and away from the feeling of being constantly watched. For the first time in days she felt like she could breathe freely. Circling the house, Hermione made her way to the back of the property and to where she assumed the Menagerie as hidden. Excitement made her heart thump unsteadily as she wondered what kind of creatures she would encounter. There were so many rumours that she didn't dare speculate.

Leaving the path behind, Hermione walked towards the place she had last seen Charlie. The shrubs and trees closed in on her, blocking her view of the Playground. She let out a relieved sigh and slowed down, breathing in the scent of earth and dying greenery. The leaves that that already littered the ground crunched and rustled beneath her feet.

She didn't notice how silent it was at first. All of her attention was fixed on the feeling of being free, but then the lack of noise filtered into her mind. There wasn't a single sound to be heard but her own noisy footsteps. No birds or scuttling insects or even the clack of branch against branch. She stopped walking and cocked her head to the side to listen. And that's when she heard it. A dry hissing sound that seemed to rise up from the earth and into her body.

Her heart skipped a beat and she stumbled forward. The shrubs snagged on her clothes, almost seeming to want to pull her back. Hermione thrust her arms forward and forced her feet to move. The branches gave and she was spat out and into a clearing. Her hands hit the ground with enough force to rattle her teeth. She looked up, cursing the thick curls that had flipped forward to cover her face. Lifting a hand, Hermione shoved her frizzy hair aside and took a look around.

The first thing she saw was the edge of a metal cage. It was made up of concrete pillars and wrist-thick iron bars that were rusted from age. Climbing to her feet, she slowly made her way towards it. Ivy had grown over two sides and along the roof, plunging the far corner in deep shadow. The floor consisted of the same iron bars, but it had been covered in a thick layer of damp, half-rotten straw. The air closer to the cage smelt sweet and musky.

Hermione peered into the dark corner, breath held, as she tried to listen for signs of life. And then she heard it; a sighing hiss. There was something in there, hiding just out of sight. She could almost make out its outline. Darker than the shadows around it and large.

"Hello?" Hermione called out, feeling ridiculous. It was probably just a bear or a tiger.

A sigh of breath reached her ears and she crept closer to the cage. Then a rattling noise filled the air, followed by a dry, sliding sound. The shadow moved forward and into the light. Hermione stopped breathing at what she saw. The top half was human. A woman with grey, leathery skin. Long, white hair sprouted from her head and fell down to her waist in stiff waves. Her eyes were yellow and the pupils were vertical slits. Hermione's eyes trailed down the creature's body in astonishment.

The woman's hips widened and morphed into the cylindrical shape of a snake. Her grey skin darkened and flushed green and then black. Scales the size of a thumbnail reflected the light, giving her an iridescent glow. At the end of her tail, a rattle as big as a small dog vibrated, it was moving so fast that the edges seemed blurred.

Lamia, Hermione's brain supplied.

Half-woman, half-snake.

"You...I...I've never seen anything like you," Hermione whispered.

The rattle intensified. "Come closssser, human. Look at me."

Hermione moved to take a step nearer.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Charlie Weasley said from behind her.

She gasped and turned around. The redhead was standing beside a tree, a wry smile pulling down the scar on the side of his face. "She'll pull off your arm if you get too close."

Hermione quickly stepped back, the hair on her neck rising when a hiss filled the air.

"She's a Lamia?"

"She's dangerous is what she is." His eyes flicked to the hissing creature. "But beautiful. Very beautiful."

"How did she get here?" Hermione asked, stepping close to Charlie and further away from the Lamia.

"The same way Riddle acquires all of his beasts." At Hermione's confused frown he elaborated. "Snape."

"But where did she come from?"

The rattling sound intensified. "The beasssst hasss earsss and dissslikesss being ignored."

Hermione spun around, guilt tightening her chest. "Oh! I'm so sorry! Please, forgive me."

"She's drawing you in, Granger. Take your eyes off her and look at how close you are to the cage," Charlie said.

Hermione blinked, her eyes moving from the Lamia's corpse-grey face to the cage. The bars were near enough that she could see flecks of rust peeling off the metal and fluttering to the ground. The scent of musk coated her mouth every time she took a breath and the hissing, rattling noise was so loud that it blocked out her thudding heart. She took several stumbling steps back and turned to Charlie.

"Thank you." She swallowed nervously and glanced back at the Lamia. "It was actually you I came to see, Mr Weasley," she murmured. "I have a favour to ask."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Okay. Follow me and I'll see what I can do. And call me Charlie. Mr Weasley sounds like you're talking to my dad."

Hermione smiled and gave one last look at the Lamia, before trailing after him. He led her past several empty cages and towards a lopsided hut. They had almost made it inside, when a furious screech tore through the air.

"What is that?" Hermione gasped, stepping closer to Charlie.

The redhead turned his head towards the sound. "Gryffin."

"Really?" she asked, peering through the overgrown trees. "Can I see it?"

"Perhaps another day," Charlie said, opening the door to the hut and gesturing for her to step inside.

It was larger than it looked. The rectangular space somehow managing to fit a bed, sofa, table, and tiny kitchen. In the furthest corner stood a large cage. Whatever was inside made the white sheet that covered it glow a fiery-red.

"Sit," Charlie invited, pushing her towards the scruffy, blue sofa. "Cup of tea?"

Hermione stumbled forward, almost tripping on the curled up edge of a rug. "Yes, please." She took a seat, her eyes widening comically when she sank almost to the floor. "Umm. What's inside the cage?"

"Phoenix," Charlie replied in a distracted voice. "Do you take milk and sugar?" he asked as he filled the kettle from a rattling tap.

"Just milk," Hermione murmured as she stared at the cage. "Can I take a look at it?"

"Yeah. Don't try and touch him though, his feathers will melt your skin."

Hermione nodded and proceeded to push herself out of the seat. It was like trying to fight her way out of a marshmallow. What springs the seat did contain were concertinaed into a solid lump and every single one of them was prodding her backside. In the end, she kind of rolled off, feeling utterly foolish as she caught sight of Charlie's grin.

She stood up and straightened her clothes, before making her way to the cage and its hidden occupant. The red glow moved as she approached, although she didn't hear a single sound from under the sheet. Once she was beside the cage she didn't quite know what to do next.

"Just yank it off," Charlie said.

Hermione bit her lip and took a hold of the edge. Breath held, she pulled. The material fluttered to the ground, revealing a dishevelled bird the size of her forearm. He was slender and glowed as if a gentle fire was blazing inside of him. Blood-red feathers covered his body, dripping down the back of his neck and onto the flaring end of his tail. Several singed feathers sat at the bottom of the cage, their colour faded to a dull ashy-grey. Pitch-black eyes regarded her without apparent interest. Indeed, after a few seconds the Phoenix turned away and began to groom itself. It was all done in absolute silence, as if the bird absorbed any sound he made.

"He's stunning," Hermione whispered in awe.

"Yes," Charlie said from beside her.

Hermione jumped at his unexpected presence. She hadn't heard him approach and wondered whether it was because she had been so intent on the Phoenix or if the bird had sucked the sound of his footsteps out of the air. He was holding two cups in his hand and looking fondly at the bird. The Phoenix let out a trilling whistle, before turning elegantly on his perch and giving them his back.

"He's temperamental," Charlie muttered, handing Hermione her cup of tea.

"Thank you," she said, taking the proffered drink, but keeping her eyes on the bird.

It was hard to believe such creatures were real and hiding in the world.

"What was it you wanted to ask me?" Charlie asked as he arranged himself into the saggy chair with a graceful flourish that she envied.

"Actually, it's you who will be asking." She fished the list from her pocket and handed it to him.

Charlie raised a ginger brow and took the paper into his freckled hand. He was silent as he read, but Hermione could feel the tension rising as he reached the end of her questions. After a few silent minutes he lifted his eyes and stared at her. Hermione met his deep blue gaze without flinching.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

Hermione swallowed and nodded her head. "I'm sure." She placed her cup on a side table and perched herself on the arm of the sofa. "I need to know and you're the only one I trust enough to ask."

Charlie blew out a hard breath. "Okay then." He frowned and cleared his throat.

"Hermione, can the curse be broken?"

A sensation of fullness swelled in her chest, expanding until it became difficult to breathe. It felt like her lungs were being shoved aside and her heart squeezed in an iron fist. She sucked in a mouthful of air, momentarily confused by the difference in sensation compared to past experiences. There was no answer waiting on the back of her tongue to crawl free. It was trapped inside the bottom of her chest, twisting and pulsing, growing like an angry clot.

"Granger?" Charlie enquired.

Hermione wheezed in a breath and blinked. "Ask me again," she gasped.

Charlie gave her a slightly alarmed look. "I'm not sure-"

"Ask me again!" she ground out, pressing the palm of her hand to her aching chest.

The red-head's brow furrowed, but regardless of his concern he asked her, "Can the curse be broken?"

The words intensified the pain and she slammed her eyes shut and gasped. She bent over, willing the answer to dislodge, to _move_. She could feel it trying to squirm free like a worm on the end of a hook. Sucking in her stomach, she pressed with her hands. Pressure and then, "Yes!" spat free. With the word now out, her body felt empty and lighter than air.

"You okay?" Charlie asked, standing to offer her a tissue.

Hermione took it and wiped the thin material across her sweat-beaded forehead. "I think so." She blinked a few times and tried to regain her composure. "I don't know what happened. It was like the answer was stuck."

"Do you want me to continue?" he asked, lifting the paper to examine the next question.

"Yes." She swallowed and took a deep breath in preparation.

Charlie's gaze traced over her face, checking to see if she was okay, before dropping once again to the rumpled list. "Can someone at the Playground break the Curse?"

The discomfort was worse this time. The answer edged with sharp spikes that dug into her ribs with jagged teeth. She gasped as the room began to spin and black spots floated across her vision. Pain travelled down the back of her throat and she felt like she was going to be sick.

"Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No." The words tumbled out of her mouth in an endless stream, her voice gradually getting higher and more hysterical. Her body tensed and she began to convulse. "Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No." She fell sideways and the last thing she saw before she blacked out was Charlie's worried face.

* * *

 **Guess what? The Devil's Playground has a fan vid. The gloriously kind, funny, and ridiculously talented primrue (primruesabcd on tumblr) created a fantastic video. Please go check it out on YouTube. You'll find it by searching for primrue (and she's done others that are fantastic as well!)**

 **thanks for reading guys and please review. Take care!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A massive thanks to Catherine Morgenstern for taking the time to beta this chapter. You're a superstar above all others. Mwah.**

* * *

 **'Good and bad cease to exist'**

Something cold and wet was laid across her forehead. Hermione could feel where the excess water had dampened her hair and trickled down her neck. Her body ached like she'd been thrown down a hill and then beaten with a very large stick. Each bone felt as though the slightest tap would break it into two jagged pieces. Even her teeth throbbed in time with her heart, which felt sluggish and heavy inside her chest.

She opened her eyes and squinted against the fading sunlight, realising she was outside. The ground felt chilly and damp beneath her and the constant rustle of leaves filled her ears. Above her, Severus Snape hovered like a bad-tempered crow. His dark hair hung around his annoyed face and a frown drew deep lines between his eyebrows, while his lips were puckered in distaste as he watched her.

When he noticed she was awake, he inched back. "Perhaps next time you could refrain from questioning yourself to the point of unconsciousness, Miss Granger."

Hermione winced at his acerbic tone and glanced past him to see Charlie who was glancing over his shoulder. The red-head looked ready to either vomit or shout, yet he seemed unable to decide which action to choose. His hair stood on end as if he'd been running his fingers through it and his eyes looked wider than they should be.

"What happened?" she murmured, closing her eyes as a wave of dizziness swept through her.

"You had some kind of fit," Charlie said. "You wouldn't stop convulsing. I picked you up." His voice became angry as he started to relay the story. "I thought I might have to take you to Riddle and who the fuck knows how that would've ended! We'd probably both be dead. He would've-"

"Enough!" Snape interrupted. "Cease your useless prattle or I will have no option but to report you to Mr Riddle myself." His dark gaze returned to Hermione. "I think it may be best for everyone involved if that does not occur."

Hermione nodded, wincing when the action caused her dizziness to return. "Thank you. I didn't know that could happen."

Snape's lips thinned even further. "Obviously."

The word, delivered with such dry disdain, made her feel like a fool and Charlie too, if the embarrassed flush painting his cheeks was any indication.

"I suggest you rest before you attempt to return to the house, Miss Granger." He stood up and looked down at her. "Now if you're quite finished with your histrionics, I shall return to my affairs."

And with that he walked away, leaving her to sit on the damp ground with a splitting headache and a less than enthusiastic Charlie.

"You sure you're okay, Granger?"

Hermione pressed the cool cloth to her head again. "I'm fine. I think. Sorry for scaring you. I really didn't know that would happen."

"Sure. Ummm. Maybe don't ask me to do that again though."

She gave him a weak smile. "I won't." The dizziness began to recede and she attempted to push herself into a sitting position. In the end Charlie had to reach out a freckled hand to help her. "Thanks.

"Sure." He crouched down beside her. "I wasn't kidding about Riddle killing us if he finds out what we did," Charlie said in a quiet voice.

"I know you weren't." Hermione gathered her hair into a messy bun, twisting and folding the curls until they were held in place. "And we don't need to worry about him anyway. He's not going to find out."

"He probably already knows," Charlie muttered.

"Don't be ridiculous. How could he?" She began to push herself to her feet, wincing when a cramp threatened to attack her toes. "Besides, it really doesn't matter. We have the answer now."

Charlie reached out a hand to steady her as she finally made it to her feet. "You only answered one question, Granger."

Hermione tilted her head to give him a determined look. "Yes, but it was the most important question. The curse can be broken."

"But you don't know how," Charlie said as he began to lead her back towards the Playground.

"How doesn't matter. We'll figure that out as we go along."

Charlie stopped walking and tugged her around to face him. "We? Since when did we become a 'we'?"

Hermione nibbled her lip, terror and loneliness rising at his troubled expression. "Sorry. I just assumed you'd want to help me."

"I do." He glanced at the sharp outline of the Playground's roof behind her. "But if Riddle even suspected we were having this conversation he'd break my bones one by one and then skin me alive."

"He'll never know. And besides, he can't leave the Playground anyway, can he? At least, that's what the rumours say. His Curse means he's tied to the building and its inhabitants." Hermione pressed a hand to her throat. Talking was making it feel scratchy and raw.

Charlie still looked unconvinced. "I don't know, Granger. I'm here to look after the Twins, I can't risk anything interfering with that."

Biting her lip again, she tried to think up a compromise which would suit them both.

"How about if I only come to you when I've found a way to break it? Will you help me then?"

Hermione watched as he considered her suggestion, before finally giving her a reluctant nod. They continued to walk after that, slowly, because Hermione's bones still felt brittle and achy. It seemed to take forever for them to reach the forbidding shadow cast by the Playground.

Charlie stopped walking as soon as their toes came into contact with it. "Can you make it back alright?"

Hermione nodded, all she wanted to do was return to her room and sleep for a week, possibly two. After that she would read every book the Playground contained, multiple times if she had to. Before Charlie could leave, she grabbed his arm to stall him.

"Is there anyone in there that you think might help me?" she asked.

The red-head frowned, his gaze lifting to examine the damp stone walls. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, "You can trust Pansy."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. There had been a wistful edge to his voice when he'd spoken Pansy's name and when he saw Hermione had noticed, he blushed an impressive shade of crimson. The colour darkened the longer they stood there until Charlie finally bobbed his head and walked away without saying another word to her.

Hermione watched until he was out of sight before beginning to make her way to the door. The closer she got, the more convinced she became that she was being watched. She wasn't sure if it was a person or the house itself that observed her, but there was definitely something looking at her. She could feel its attention on her skin, feather-light and tickly. As soon as she reached the door, she tugged it open and stepped into the oppressive entrance hall. A floorboard creaked to the left – in the direction of Riddle's office – and Hermione quickly bolted for the stairs. She took them two at a time, not stopping until she reached the top. When she made it to her room, she slammed the door closed and flopped down on the bed. Within minutes, the toll of holding herself so tensely caused her to drop into a deep sleep as easily as a stone thrown into a lake.

* * *

Hermione woke up to the feeling of being watched. Her room was dark and shapeless black shadows filled the corners, instantly setting her on edge. She quickly reached across to switch on the lamp. Yellow light bloomed, chasing the gloom away, but not the feeling that something lingered out of sight, observing her. Perhaps it was the ghost of Percy as the Twins had cruelly hinted at the previous day. The thought made her skin crawl and she slid off the bed and towards the door in order to escape.

The problem was that she had no idea where to go and she wasn't sure it would be wise to wander the Playground in the dead of night. But she couldn't hide in her room forever; in fact she refused to. Besides, now might be the perfect time to explore, the other occupants would surely be asleep, after all. With her mind made up, Hermione opened her door and strode into the hall. Her confidence lasted two steps before it wilted at the sight of the deserted corridor wreathed in darkness. She dithered for a moment - even turned to go back into her room - before fisting her hands and forcing herself to continue.

The thick runner soaked up the sound of her footsteps as she walked towards the staircase, determined to learn the layout of her new home. She supposed that somewhere on the walls there would be a light switch or two, however, with the numerous pictures cluttering the surface, they were impossible to see in the dimness. So instead, Hermione had to creep along like a thief, her back stiff with the fear that someone or something might jump out at her.

The lower parts of the house were even darker than the upper floor. Almost dark enough that she considered turning back, but she knew hiding in her room wasn't going to break the Curse. At the bottom of the stairs she paused and considered which way to go. She knew where the dining room was and she'd been to Riddle's office, but the other doorways were a mystery. The nearest was just to her right, beside the main entrance.

She decided to start there. Her footsteps echoed off the marble floor and she was sharply reminded of a time when she was a child visiting a museum. The vast halls and towering ceilings had both fascinated and scared her. She'd thought the paintings and artefacts must have been very important and she had felt special looking at them. If she had to pinpoint where her need to know things came from, then that would be it. She hadn't been satisfied until she knew who the lady in the painting was and why she was smiling. And she just had to know what the chipped bowl was used for and how it was made.

That thirst for knowledge was rising inside her now, eating away at her, one question at a time. She reached the door and placed her palm against the thick wood. It felt warm against her skin, almost alive as she dropped her hand to the handle and pushed. It was a cloakroom full of coats and shoes and various other items of outdoor wear. Disappointed, Hermione closed the door and crossed the hall. There was another door next to the entrance on the other side and she quickly opened it to peek inside. The small window let in enough moonlight to see that it was empty.

Next she moved to the door opposite the dining room. When she pushed it open, Hermione was greeted by the sight of a large fireplace with softly glowing coals in the grate. Several sofas were dotted about the room and if it hadn't been so steeped in shadows and that ominous sensation of being watched, then it would have been cosy. Across the room she spotted another door and quickly wandered over to take a look.

The hinges creaked as she opened it and she paused as a sliver of light appeared in the gap.

"Come now, Miss Granger, don't be shy. Are we not friends?" Tom Riddle's voice slithered from the room.

For a moment Hermione stood on the other side of the door, frozen with indecision, but Riddle knew it was her and scuttling away would be both cowardly and pointless. She pursed her lips and entered. The sight that greeted her made her gasp.

It was a library!

A huge library with bookcases covering each of the walls and an actual ladder to reach the upper shelves. Another fireplace was set in the wall; the only thing that broke up the bookcases. Two leather couches were crowded around the fire, separated by small tables on which squat lamps sat. Tom stood beside a wingback chair, flicking through the pages of a book he was holding. His head was tipped down, perusing the contents and if he hadn't just spoken to her, she would have believed him to be unaware of her presence.

Switching her gaze away from him, Hermione stared at the books. "I had no idea you had a library." She stepped into the room. "Is it free for residents to use?"

She felt more than saw Tom look at her, but her interest had focused on the titles of the books around her instead of the Playground's caretaker.

"Of course. This is your home now, Miss Granger, you may come here whenever you wish," he said in a soft voice.

Hermione hummed, her attention fixed on the shelf in front of her. There were so many titles! The section in front of her appeared to be made up of Classics. She spotted Dickens and Dumas, Carroll and Cervantes, Austen and Alcott. The spines looked old and delicate, well read, and she feared touching one for fear it would break in her hands. Moving on she found Anatomy encyclopedias and Science journals. The History section took up almost an entire wall. But it was when she reached the Arcane bookcase that she paused, excitement dancing along her muscles. There were so many titles on Magic and Rituals and Alchemy that she momentarily felt dizzy.

"Have you seen something that interests you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped at Tom's mocking voice coming from directly behind her. She spun around to find him close enough to touch. A cruel smile curved his lips as he watched her with a cool expression.

"I've always found this section to be particularly fascinating." He flicked his gaze behind her before reaching forward. Hermione made to step back, but the shelves at her back prevented her from moving. Heat washed over her as their clothes touched. "This one for instance," he murmured, leaning back and handing her a thick tome.

She looked down at the cracked leather cover. The word 'Curses' was emblazoned on the front in faded gold lettering. There was no author's name nor any other writing to be seen on the front. She bit her lip and darted a look at Riddle. He was smiling at her. But the expression held no hint of amusement. It resembled a puppet's smile, empty and devoid of emotion.

"I believe you will find it most…enlightening," he said as he stepped away.

Hermione clutched the book to her chest, using it as a barrier between herself and the Playground's ruler. She nodded, unsure of what response to give, and, truthfully, not even sure she wanted to read a book that he'd recommended in the first place. It felt heavier than it should be and the leather cover seemed unnaturally cool against her skin. When it became apparent that he wasn't moving any further until he'd received an answer, Hermione nodded again and muttered out a hasty thank you.

Tom tilted his head to the side, but before he could speak, Hermione darted past him and out of the room, the book still clutched to her chest like a shield. Before the library door thudded shut, she swore she heard the sound of Tom's chuckle. Her plan to explore the Playground suddenly felt like it could be put off until the next day. The thought of wandering around the Playground with Riddle hiding in the shadows, watching her and waiting to thrust other dubious items into her arms, became unappealing to say the least.

She didn't run back to her room, but it was a very brisk walk.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys. I know it's been a while, but I hope you all are still enjoying the story :)**


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